


Always Before Me

by irisbleufic



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-03
Updated: 2007-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I cannot believe that you are far away,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>for I can never forget you;</i>
  <br/>
  <i>and thus, your face is always before me.</i>
</p><p>—from "The Tales of Ise," by Ise Monogatari (ca. 951 AD)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Before Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a first-time stand alone. Contains spoilers for 1x23. This story picks up where the finale ends and moves forward. Some terms: _[kosode](http://www.wodefordhall.com/kosode.htm), [obi](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obi_%28sash%29), [hakama](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hakama), [wajari](http://www.japan-zone.com/culture/footwear.shtml)_. ***** Award:[Best of _Heroes_ Hiro/Ando (R/NC-17) Category](http://bestofheroes.livejournal.com/3158.html) *****

**Taro2234:** u busy tonite??  
**Huggerz69:** no, why?  
**Taro2234:** karaoke @ 9pm, wanna go?

Ando frowned at his computer screen. Even though it was Friday, he didn't see the point in accepting Taro's invitation. He was lousy when it came to participating in karaoke, and it had nothing to do with having a lousy voice, as having a _good_ voice wasn't even the point.

It was that he wouldn't be able to get through the night without Hiro to bail them out, because Hiro had always been the one with enough nerve to mutter under his breath that Taro was boring and that they should just leave. At which point Taro would always insist that it meant Hiro owed them a song, and Hiro, generally too proud to back down in spite of the embarrassment, would oblige.

 **Huggerz69:** i don't think so.  
**Taro2234:** come on, u cant sit around waiting for him, they are doing everything they can im sure to find out where he is. nakamura chased u guys around america for weeks so why should be come back now??  
**Huggerz69:** how do you know about that?  
**Taro2234:** people talk.  
**Huggerz69:** yeah, you mean kimiko?  
**Taro2234:** maybe. so u gonna come?  
**Huggerz69:** no. have fun.  
**Taro2234:** fine, but u need to get laid one way or another.

Before Ando could respond, Taro had signed off. He wasn't sure what made him the most angry: Taro's casual brushing-off of the fact that Hiro was still missing, or his rash assumption about Ando's sex life. True, he hadn't gotten any _real_ action in over a year, and even then, what action he'd gotten in the past didn't actually count as getting laid (and what Taro didn't know wouldn't hurt him). Ando glanced at the clock, wondering if anyone would notice him leaving twenty minutes early. Frankly, he didn't care.

Ando had been back at work for a week solid since Hiro had teleported them both back to the Yamagato office and left him there. The handful their co-workers who had sworn to seeing Hiro there for a minute or so had been questioned, but no conclusions had been drawn from the evidence. Ando had been questioned, and he had insisted that he didn't know where Hiro had gone. Even if he had told them "back to New York City, to stab a brain-eating serial killer with a samurai sword," it would have been of little use.

Hiro was one of two places: outside of time, or dead.

While Ando suspected that the latter was the most likely, he preferred not to think about it. Thoughts of that sort led to drinking one too many bottles of sake in one sitting, which led to tears, or nightmares, or horrific hangovers. It was one of the reasons he'd given up on Taro's outings – too much alcohol and speculation – and decided it would be best to keep to himself until the whole thing had blown over.

 _Until Hiro comes back_ , he thought, leaning heavily against the train window.

Of all the foolish things he could've done, Ando had kept the comic book. It stood as proof of what they had done and where they had been, and of what Hiro could yet accomplish. He fingered the wrinkled pages on his way past the kitchen table, dropping his keys carelessly beside it. There had been one troubling aspect to the news reports coming out of New York City, and that was the detail of a mysterious blood trail leading to a dislodged storm drain. The authorities hadn't been able to trace it, but they noted that the amount of blood suggested a dangerously deep wound.

Ando paused to remove his shoes, replaying the sequence in his mind – or, rather, the sequence as he would like to imagine it happened. Behind his eyelids, Hiro didn't hesitate; he was faster than Sylar, they knew, and _truer_. Hiro's mouth moved, but Ando heard nothing, could only stand watching with his eyes closed, and the image faded. The hall was suddenly too dark for Ando's taste, so he turned on the light.

Dinner wasn't going to be much that evening, but it would keep him going: miso with tofu, chicken, and mushrooms. Ando considered himself a competent cook, although Hiro had always insisted he was incredible. Then again, what Hiro considered cooking for himself, Ando considered a form of self-torture. Cooking didn't take talent; it took patience. Hiro had never had much patience, at least not in the kitchen.

Ando flipped through the news channels as he ate, but there wasn't anything more than he already knew. The Petrelli brothers were missing, too, and there had been a couple of men in critical condition as a result of gunshot wounds. Who had been carrying a gun, Ando wondered, and why had they opened fire? Bullets would have been useless against Sylar. If he could lift and pin a human being, then he could easily manipulate smaller objects. And if he could survive a sword-thrust, even briefly…

Rubbing his forehead, Ando turned off the television. He squeezed his eyes shut, but still the images came, refusing to be dislodged. What if Sylar had gotten hold of the sword? What if he had turned it on Hiro? What if the trail of blood – 

The phone rang, shaking Ando free of his reverie. He snagged it off the coffee table, trembling, ignoring the fact that he'd splashed the remainder of his broth all over the cover of one of Hiro's abandoned manga collections.

"Hello? Masahashi Ando speaking." The music in the background was deafening even through the filter of Ando's mobile. He wondered whose drunk-dial he was fielding.

"Taro here! What are you _doing_? Get out of the house. We'll wait for you, then move on to somewhere else. How's that?"

"I'm eating dinner," Ando said, trying to keep his tone polite. "I've had a long day, sorry."

"You've been having too many long days," Taro shouted. "There's this _gorgeous_ chick here, just your type. Her name is – "

Ando hung up on him and dropped the phone back on the table. He dashed to the kitchen and fetched some paper towels, hoping to salvage Hiro's book. Hiro would stop leaving his things lying around if he didn't think Ando would take care of them in his own negligent fashion. _There_. It wasn't perfect, but it would escape with only a few wrinkles. Ando sighed and set the book back on the table, not bothering to clean up his dishes. He _was_ tired already, as if his body knew there was no better remedy.

This part of Ando's day was little more than a dream, just as much as rising. Thanks to Hiro's absence, nothing in his bathroom had recently gotten misplaced – so his toothbrush was disappointingly easy to find. Undressing, too, was an alien act – no brief prickle of Hiro's eyes moving down his back, no reason to spend an hour awake wondering what Hiro had been thinking before they adjourned to separate hotel beds, if he'd been thinking anything at all. Of the two of them, Hiro was the most unreadable. He could hide infinity behind those still, careful eyes if he wanted.

Ando shrugged into his nightshirt, not bothering to button it. Sleep couldn't come soon enough, and he hoped it would bring him darkness instead of dreams.

* * *

Some nights, Hiro walked alone in the field. He'd been having trouble sleeping since his arrival, most likely because everything was different: the beds, the clothing, the lack of technology, and even the language. One way or another, he knew he was meant to stay there, at least for a while. Trouble was trouble, no matter what century you were in – and if it was within your power to help, that's what you did.

Most of those nights, Hiro spent his time thinking about the present. Or should he think of it as the future? He was finding it progressively more difficult to think of _any_ future, simply because he didn't know what had become of the fight that he had unintentionally left behind. He was fairly certain that Sylar had died, which gave him some sense of sorrowing relief. He had never wanted – or even _intended_ – to kill anyone. Still, if he'd managed to save lives, it was all that mattered.

Hiro found a place to sit, awkwardly dropping to the ground as the high grass rustled around him. He tried to arrange his hakama, but it was no use; it would end up getting wrinkled anyway. He's been in a kimono before, but he found the entire ensemble difficult to maneuver even after a week of wearing it. In some corner of his mind, he was ashamed, because it was hardly proper for him to complain about such a gift, even to himself. He drew his knees up under his chin and sighed, squinting at the stalks of grass a few feet away. His glasses were confusing to nearly everyone he'd met, so he'd taken to hiding them. Furtively, he tugged them out of a fold in his obi and put them on. There was nothing to see, but it was comforting to have the world seem clear when nothing else did.

Hiro's first thought had been that Ando would look far less out of place here than he did. Ando, with his sharp features straight out of an antique painting, would have cut an impressive figure in the costume – never mind that he would have been no less confused than Hiro. Clearly, Hiro had made a mistake in leaving him behind. He hoped that Ando hadn't had _too_ difficult a time explaining why he'd appeared out of nowhere, bleeding and holding a sword.

Hiro closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain. Ando was wondering the same thing: where Hiro was, what he was doing, and if he was having a hard time. If he was – 

_A ghost_ , Hiro thought, his hands fisting in the grass. _I'm so stupid. He'll think I'm dead_.

It took Hiro several long moments to calm himself, to try and put everything into perspective. If he _hadn't_ time-traveled in that terrible split second, he _would_ have been dead; Sylar had thrown him with such force that impact with the building surely would have killed him. He'd accomplished what he'd _truly_ wanted to accomplish. Ando was alive because he'd been faster than Sylar, and _he_ was alive because he'd been faster than Sylar. In the end, he'd kept them both breathing – except for the part where he hadn't even left a forwarding address, and he couldn't imagine what the news reports coming out of New York must look like. He wasn't sure if he would be reported missing, but he doubted his father would go to the media. One way or another, word would work its way back through the company, but it would breed atrocious rumors. He hoped Kimiko would keep her mouth shut, but she would doubtless be worried sick about him.

Hiro lifted his head and opened his eyes, trying to get his breathing back under control. The stars were unbelievably clear, as light pollution hadn't yet been invented. He knew that Ando wouldn't be seeing the same sky, not _quite_ like this. The thought left him feeling empty, horrifically incomplete. He'd only seen himself like this once before, and he never wanted to see it again. Could it happen either way, he wondered – alone in the future _or_ in the past? If so, he _was_ alone in the past, and the future didn't look bright…for himself _or_ for the people he'd met, and he'd even sworn to help them.

Hiro stood up, drawing a deep breath. He could have it both ways if he wanted, he supposed, but he'd have to be remarkably careful. The risk would be great, certainly, as he could overshoot his mark at any time, in spite of his increasing control over his powers. Thinking about Ando had worked once before – but he'd have to think about the right Ando, present-Ando, _his_ Ando. The space around him convulsed, and he was nothing, and then there was darkness and the soft, familiar sound of Ando's radiator.

Hiro blinked, willing his vision to clear. He was in Ando's bedroom, that much was certain, but it took him a few seconds to find the red glare of the digital clock on Ando's bedside table – _2:54 AM_ – and to determine that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him, that the figure lying tangled in the bedclothes was actually Ando. Hiro took a few cautious steps forward, conscious of the way his hakama rustled. 

Ando was fast asleep, although he twitched a little when Hiro got close enough to lean over him. His nightshirt was unbuttoned, exposing his chest to the faint slats of artificial street-light filtering through the blinds. Hiro glanced away quickly, chiding himself for taking notice of which boxers Ando was wearing. Washing clothes together at the laundromat was one thing, but taking such a liberty was completely another. Against his better judgment, Hiro let his eyes drift back, taking in the curve of Ando's wrist instead. He longed to touch Ando, to feel his warmth, just to _know_. Perhaps if he reached quickly – like this, just a brush – and then willed himself _back_ – 

It was the worst thing he possibly could have done.

Hiro landed on his back in the high grass, the wind knocked out of him by the impact. Ando was sprawled just a few feet away from him, already struggling to sit up. Hiro managed to scramble into a crouching position by sheer force of will, but by then, Ando was already on his hands and knees, staring at Hiro in disbelief.

"This is where I landed," Hiro explained, quickly, as if it might make some sense.

Ando was still staring at him, unblinking. "You mean where you died?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly raw, and it was then that Hiro noticed the tears in his eyes.

"No, Ando- _kun_ ," he says gently, crawling slowly toward Ando. "I'm not dead."

Ando was beginning to back away from him, the grief in his eyes tinged with fear.

"Prove it," he whispered, drawing himself in as if he meant to rise and flee.

"I'm not a ghost," Hiro insisted, frantic, unable to think of anything except tapping at his glasses. "See? Ghosts don't need glasses."

A strange look had begun to settle across Ando's features, as if he understood.

"Oh," he says. "I see. This is a dream." The statement seemed to calm him, and, instead of getting up, he sat down on the spot, shivering a little, trying to wrap his nightshirt around his knees. "Are you trying to tell me where he killed you?"

For a split second, Hiro realized the complete and utter ridiculousness of the situation – and that Ando must be harboring more superstitions than Hiro had ever realized. Taking a deep breath, he made his way to where Ando was sitting and settled down beside him.

"Ando- _kun_ , listen to me," he said, awkwardly shrugging out of his kosode. "Nobody killed me. I'm alive. I ran your sword through Sylar, but he threw me using his telekinesis. I had to time travel, or I would've run into a building."

Ando was nodding, but he didn't seem to follow. Hiro handed him the over-garment and watched him struggle into it, finding the coverage much better than that of his nightshirt. Hiro glanced away, trying to think of what to say next, but Ando broke the silence.

"Do I have powers, then? Can I find you in my dreams? How do I know this is real?"

Hiro wanted to laugh, but he settled for a smile. "I don't know, Ando- _kun_. Maybe it doesn't need to be a power. Maybe it just _is_."

"Maybe," Ando said, and fell silent again. After a few seconds of toying with the kosode sleeves, he glanced over at Hiro, making steady eye contact. "Do you know where you are?"

"Yes," Hiro admitted, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I'm in a bedtime story."

"No way," Ando replied, almost smiling. "Kensei?"

Hiro nodded, hesitantly returning the smile. The reality behind this particular bedtime story is more than he wanted to leave Ando with before morning, and he knew exactly how their meetings – if he dared continue them – would have to go from then on. They would have to be _dreams_ , insofar as he could figure out how to maintain the ruse.

"Does this mean you can travel _into_ stories, Hiro?"

"It's not _just_ a story," said Hiro, reaching over to pat Ando's shoulder awkwardly with his left hand. "Nothing is just a story. There's always _some_ truth out there."

Unexpectedly, Ando set his hand on top of Hiro's, his fingers curling slightly.

"If dreams can tell the truth," he added, wistful. "I've missed you, Hiro."

"I'll come back," insisted Hiro, frozen, no longer able to meet Ando's gaze. "I promised."

"When?" Ando asked, taking Hiro's hand fully in his own.

"I don't know," Hiro sighed, giving in as Ando laced their fingers. "There's trouble here."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I shouldn't tell you."

"You can't mess up the space-time continuum if something has already happened."

"Probably not," Hiro agreed, "but it doesn't change the fact that they need help."

"They?" Ando asked, mystified, a hint of anger rising in his voice. "Hiro, a little help _here_ would be – "

 _Nice_ , Hiro thought, which he knew, but it had mostly to do with the fact that he was kissing Ando – surely he couldn't have done anything else to silence him – and it _was_. Besides, Ando was likely to pull away at any moment, judging by the way he'd gone completely stiff under Hiro's right hand, which had found its way to Ando's other shoulder. They drew apart a few seconds later, staring at each other in silence.

"Now I _know_ this is a dream," said Ando, his voice tinged with laughter.

"Yes," agreed Hiro, reluctantly. "It's a dream. Do you think it's a good dream?"

Ando's eyes darkened with something that was exactly halfway between ecstasy and embarrassment.

"It's the best dream I've ever had, Hiro- _kun_ ," he whispered, barely audible above the wind, which had picked up alarmingly, whipping the tall grass around them.

"Then you'll forgive me," Hiro said, swallowing hard, and leaned forward to kiss Ando again. Unlike the first time, Ando didn't seem frozen anymore. He wrapped his arms around Hiro's waist and tugged him in, returning the kiss blindly, _desperately_.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," he managed, stroking Hiro's cheek before gliding his fingers up to touch Hiro's glasses. The question was wordless, almost painful.

Hiro managed to tug them off one-handed without snapping anything, which he would, later, consider quite an achievement. He knew that tossing them aside in the grass was probably ill advised, but at the moment, Ando's fingers were busy trying to figure out how to undo his obi, and not having an easy time of it, either. Hiro's heart raced with the gravity of it all, the understanding that, to Ando, this was both happening and _not_ happening, but for him, it was _all_ that was happening – all in the universe, anywhere, at any time, that could _ever_ be happening at that moment.

"There's everything to be sorry for," Hiro sighed, and reached down to loosen the fabric in a few quick tugs. "It takes practice," he added, feeling his cheeks flush.

"How can I regret this when I can't even reach it?" Ando asked, his hands already parting Hiro's kimono and tugging at the waistband of his hakama. " _Hiro_ ," he whispered, perhaps the way he might have said it if he'd been alone in the dark, and found the ties without any trouble. He ran his fingers reverently from Hiro's collarbone to his hips, his eyes fixed on Hiro's all the while. "As long as this is _your_ dream, too."

"I th – think so," Hiro managed, wishing he could squirm away and hide in the high grass, out of Ando's lap and his arms and the reach of his worshipful gaze. It was no use, of course; the damage was already done, for better or for worse. His kosode and Ando's nightshirt had already fallen loose around Ando's shoulders; Ando didn't have the benefit of hakama to hide the state he was in – though Hiro didn't, either, to be fair, mostly undressed as he was. There was little left to do, except kiss Ando again and press him back, and _farther_ back, until the grass beneath them framed his stunned face.

"In this bedtime story," Hiro explained, brushing his lips against Ando's ear, "this isn't so unusual. Between samurai, I mean. They don't always talk about it, but…"

"I'm not stupid," Ando said, clutching at Hiro's arms. "I know about that. I can read."

"Good," Hiro murmured, kissing Ando's neck, biting experimentally. "I don't want you to think it's because of that. I want you to know – "

"Me too, Hiro," Ando gasped, the words coming with more difficulty than before. Hiro had managed to work one trembling hand under the waistband of Ando's boxers.

From there, talking didn't seem logical, so Hiro shifted his concentration to removing Ando's boxers and kicking out of his hakama, which took far longer than he would have liked. He was glad of the other garments, though; when Ando finally tugged him back down for another kiss, the shock of full-body contact made him shiver. His kimono covered them both like a blanket, and his kosode under them was more comfortable than the grass alone. 

Ando worked his hands under the kimono, kneading and stroking his way down Hiro's back. _I'll have marks in the morning_ , Hiro thought, kissing Ando harder. He didn't understand what they were aiming for, precisely, but Ando didn't seem to _care_ , as long as it involved as much physical contact as possible. Hiro shifted, pressing one thigh up between Ando's, and it was then that his thoughts became a blur: Ando moving under him, Ando moaning in his ear, Ando's grip so tight at his hips that he almost couldn't move properly in response, except they'd done _something_ just right, because Hiro could hear himself, too, and he was coming.

Hazily, once his heartbeat had slowed and he'd relaxed completely into Ando's embrace, Hiro realized that they were both still now, and sated, and what the fierceness of Ando's hold on him had meant. He buried his face in the crook of Ando's neck, suddenly ashamed. Ando's fingers were in Hiro's hair now, languid and gentle.

"I'm going to wake up soon, aren't I?" Ando asked, his voice thick with the onset of sleep.

Hiro's heart lurched, realizing that he shouldn't be enjoying this moment so selfishly when he ought to be setting the situation back to rights. "I'm afraid so," Hiro sighed, lifting his head to look at Ando. "It's how these things usually work, I guess?"

"Usually?" Ando asked, his relaxation turning to alarm, but Hiro had already closed his eyes and turned his every thought to relocating them, just like this, to Ando's room. After a split second of disorienting, light-speed forward motion, they landed on Ando's mattress, jostled roughly apart. Ando stared at Hiro, wide awake.

"Hiro, _what_ – "

But Hiro was already gone, too terrified to stay, alone in the long grass without his kosode and his glasses having narrowly escaped being smashed by his landing.

* * *

By Ando's reckoning – and by the clock's, if he could take its word – it was 4:53 AM, and he _felt_ mostly awake, and he'd just had the most unaccountably vivid dream of his life. What was worse, he could have sworn, at the end of it, that Hiro had actually _been_ there, and vanished right before his eyes.

There were also the points that his boxers were missing, that he was something of a mess, and that he was wearing some old-fashioned…kimono-thing over his nightshirt.

Most of these things, he supposed, could be explained away. Hiro had bits of samurai costume, didn't he, and had worn some of them to Ando's apartment on a few occasions, and could easily have left something behind, which Ando would have shoved into his closet or under the bed in abject frustration. Ando had gone through a phase of sleepwalking not that long ago, somewhere in his late teens, and it wasn't improbable that recent dreams and disturbances could prompt a recurrence. And the rest of it, well, didn't _everyone_ have dreams like that about those they missed, loved, or desired?

The problem was that Hiro fell into all three categories, if Ando was honest with himself.

Getting up and searching the apartment would prove useless; he knew that he wasn't likely to find Hiro. Whether it had been a dream or an actual visitation, Hiro had left Ando alone again with the memory of his promise. In some ways, Ando realized, Hiro had already kept it. He would always return, whether he was actually there or not. Ando closed his eyes, fingering the barely-dried semen on his stomach. The memory was so vivid, so _near_ that he couldn't help but shudder in awe. Hazily, he used the corner of the sheet to scrape the worst of it away, turning instinctively towards his pillows. The kimono-thing was warm and smelled faintly of Hiro, so Ando wrapped himself in it and closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do but sleep.

At work on Monday, Taro cornered him on their lunch break. Ando didn't mind the company, as he was finding concentration more difficult than ever. Being alone with the thought of Hiro kissing him, Hiro's skin flush against his, the way Hiro had sounded when he'd come – it all made him wish he'd called in sick, as he could have easily spent the day alone replaying it in his head. Why hadn't he ever dreamed like this before? It would have saved them a lot of confusion and misread signals in the long run.

"Are you sick?" Taro asked, flicking some pieces of ginger away from the contents of his bento box. "Do you need to go home or something? I can cover for you."

"You'd cover for me?" Ando replied, incredulous. "You haven't forgiven me for not going out with you. How was it, by the way?"

"Like I said, there was this gorgeous girl," said Taro, with honest regret, biting into a variety of sushi that Ando didn't recognize. "I really think you would've liked her."

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm not looking for a one-night stand at the moment," Ando said, swilling around his leftover miso. "Did anybody else like her, at least?"

"Yeah, she went home with Kiyoshi," Taro replied, swallowing. "Your loss."

"I doubt it," said Ando. "Didn't anything more interesting happen?"

Taro shrugged. "Since when don't you find girls interesting?"

"Since I realized they're all the same," Ando muttered, fishing for bits of chicken.

"No way," Taro laughed, jabbing his chopsticks at Ando. "Even in America?"

" _Especially_ in America," said Ando, firmly, and proceeded to eat in silence.

Throughout the rest of the day, Taro's curious follow-up IMs were joined by Kiyoshi's, in addition to a discreet flurry from Kimiko, who wanted to know if he'd heard from Hiro.

 **kiku_nori:** I'm sure he would come to you first.  
**Huggerz69:** what makes you think that? you're his sister. surely he'd tell you if he was back.  
**kiku_nori:** Nice save, Ando, but do you honestly think he tells me anything?  
**Huggerz69:** if he doesn't, then i'm sorry to hear that.  
**kiku_nori:** You're not a very good liar, you know.  
**Huggerz69:** i…try?  
**kiku_nori:** I appreciate the effort. Listen, I hear this is taking a real toll on you. Do you want to go out for a drink after work?  
**Huggerz69:** i don't know. i'm not on the best of terms with alcohol right now.  
**kiku_nori:** At least that's honest. How about this: the Coke's on me.  
**Huggerz69:** i'll think about it.  
**kiku_nori:** Email me before the end of the day.

Just like that, she had signed off, leaving Ando with the sinking feeling that there would be more rumors flying around about him by the end of the week than he could count. The more he thought about it, though, the more he realized that it might be nice to talk with someone who was as close to being in his shoes as it was possible to be. He opened a fresh email window and typed, _yes – where and what time?_

 _Six o'clock, down in the lobby_ , replied Kimiko, ten minutes later. _We'll find a place that's not too hard on the ears._

The place turned out to be a sedate bistro that served excellent appetizers and even better plum wine. Kimiko's air of hard directness – which she only seemed to have in the absence of her father, or when she forgot herself in the face of a higher authority – was becoming of the new and acting head of Yamagato Industries. She stirred her cocktail with precision, eyeing Ando over the sampler between them.

"Have some more," she said, taking a long sip of her drink. "You look starved."

"Thank you," replied Ando, inclining his head slightly, and snatched one of the more substantial-looking dumplings. "It's very kind of you to do this."

"I have my reasons," said Kimiko, shrugging as she selected another roll for herself. "You know more about this situation than anyone, yet you refused to speak to the authorities."

"Do you have any idea how crazy I'd sound? _Time_ travel? Think about it. It's insane."

"And you want to protect Hiro," Kimiko observed, eyeing Ando's barely-touched plum wine. "I can respect that. I don't want any harm to come to him, but it may be too late for that. Do you have even the faintest idea where – or _when_ – he might be?"

Ando glanced at the surrounding tables, making sure that no one was paying undue attention to them. "I had a dream last night," he said, in a low voice, taking hold of his glass, "but I don't know if you put any faith in dreams."

Kimiko raised an eyebrow, as if to suggest that she was listening.

Ando sighed. "He was in a place where there was a lot of tall grass," he admitted, hoping that he wasn't starting to blush. "A few trees, too. It was dark, and the sky was _so_ clear. I'd never seen so many stars. He told me that he was in a bedtime story. What do you make of that?"

Kimiko frowned, tapping her plate with her chopsticks. She stirred her soy sauce a little before dipping the roll into it, and she took a full minute to chew and swallow.

"I think he could be telling the truth," she said eventually, "or that it could be that your mind is coming up with some interesting stress-induced fantasies."

"Fantasies?" Ando asked, momentarily alarmed. "I've been having _nightmares_ , Kimiko."

"If you'll forgive me for being so forward, something tells me that last night's _wasn't_ a nightmare," replied Kimiko, somewhat brusquely. "You're too calm. You don't think he's in any immediate danger. But you miss him."

"Of course I miss him," Ando said, finishing off his wine in defiance. "Don't you?"

"More than anything," admitted Kimiko, her features softening, suddenly flushed with emotion. "I just want him home again. I don't care what he does around the office, Ando. He can sit at home and read manga while I pay him, for all I care. I want my little brother back."

"What did you hear about our reappearance last week?" asked Ando, cautiously, feeling the buzz of wine gone to his head too fast on account of his empty stomach.

"You were standing there holding a sword," Kimiko said, her eyes as still and impenetrable as Hiro's. "You were bleeding. Was Hiro hurt?"

"No," Ando said, concentrating on the movement of his tongue. "What you don't know is that I had that sword because Hiro gave it to me. So I knew he'd come back, he said."

Kimiko closed her eyes, nodding. If there were tears behind her eyelids, they didn't come. "He'll return, then. Hiro doesn't break promises."

"I know," said Ando, uselessly, reaching across the table to touch her wrist.

"Once we've finished, you're welcome for a drink at mine," Kimiko told him, eyes open again, calm and untroubled. "If you don't want any more alcohol, that's fine."

Ando swallowed, realizing it was just the sort of thing Taro would love to hear about.

"Thank you for the offer, but I shouldn't," he said, bowing his head. "I have some work left over from today, and I still haven't gotten my apartment back in order. Five weeks gone is a long time."

"Almost two months," Kimiko murmured, stirring her drink again. "Endless."

"Be patient," said Ando, squeezing her wrist gently before letting go. "You'll see him again."

Kimiko's perfect lips quirked into a smile that was at least half frown.

"You'll see him before I do. For that, I envy you."

"Good night, Kimiko," Ando said, rising. He tried to offer her some money, but she waved it away.

"What good is the company tab if I can't use it?" she asked, wistfully, and sat back in her chair with her drink. "Go home, Ando. My brother's clutter is waiting."

Ando wanted to ask Kimiko how she knew, but the best thing to do was walk away.

* * *

Hiro closed his eyes and fled, ashamed, just as an enemy arrow whizzed past his ear.

He hadn't given any thought in that split second to where he was going, or even _when_ , not unlike in the moment Sylar had flung him wildly backwards. The sound of the radiator was more than familiar this time; it was sheer _relief_. Hiro approached Ando's bed, sitting down carefully on the edge. He was shaking so hard that he wouldn't need to speak in order to rouse Ando. By Hiro's reckoning, it had been four weeks since the tryst in the field, the longest month of Hiro's life – past, present, _or_ future. Ando stirred, blinking up at Hiro.

"You're back," he whispered, reaching for Hiro's hand. "So soon."

"Four weeks," Hiro replied, struggling to untie and kick off his wajari. He found the footwear of the commoners more practical than geta, which aren't convenient on the battlefield by any stretch. Much to Hiro's dismay, Ando was wrapped in his old kosode, already holding out his arms. Hiro half fell and half settled into them, already trembling with need. _Four weeks_. How long had it been for Ando?

"A month?" Ando asked between kisses, incredulous. "I dreamed of you two weeks ago."

"Then time has been kinder to you than it's been to me," Hiro sighed, his heart skipping a beat at the discovery that Ando isn't wearing anything under the kosode. "Have you been waiting?"

"Yes," Ando murmured, toying with Hiro's hair, which is just barely long enough to be tied back, in dismay. "Or sleeping. Whichever."

"Both," Hiro said, feeling a sudden dampness just under his right ear. He swiped at it, eyes widening at the sight of blood on his fingers in the semidarkness.

Ando recoiled in shock. "You're bleeding! Are you here to tell me – "

"No, I'm not dead, I'm not dying," Hiro babbled, wiping the blood hastily on his new kosode, which was dark enough to take it. "It's fine. I had a…near miss today. I'm _fine_."

"I don't like this game, Hiro," Ando whispered, tugging him close again, one hand on Hiro's cheek. "What if it's worse, the next time you come? What if you're seriously hurt?"

A chill crept down Hiro's spine. The sudden understanding that Ando was only half playing along with the reality of the space in which they'd been meeting drove home the need for immediacy, for secrecy, for as little explanation as he could afford – while at the same time not leaving Ando completely in the dark. Still, Ando's hand was already past his his obi and his kimono, tentatively loosening his hakama.

"I don't know," admitted Hiro, sagging back against the nearest pillow at Ando's urging. It was only fair that he should end up on his back this time, taking whatever Ando saw fit to give. One moment, Ando's teeth were at his collarbone, and the next, his tongue was tracing a wobbly path from Hiro's chest to his bellybutton. He paused, then nuzzled Hiro's hip, sighing as he curled his fingers around Hiro's length, pressing it to his cheek.

"I can't believe this," Ando was saying, and the dampness against Hiro's belly was surely tears and not blood. "I don't even _know_ if I believe this. I can't – "

"Don't," Hiro gasped, urgently, tugging on Ando's wrist. "You can always – "

"I'm not talking about _this_ -this," Ando said, impatiently, touching his tongue briefly to Hiro's erection as if to prove a point. "I'm talking about you, being here. If you're _even_ here. I might never see you again, and this is all I have. Torture."

"I didn't mean it," Hiro said, his fingers tightening on Ando's shoulder in spite of himself. "I didn't know how else – " He groaned, shifting as Ando took at least half of him in. "I don't even know if…if _I'm_ dreaming," he managed, but Ando's hands on his hips suggested that he should lie there and let Ando take care of him. It didn't take long, as overwhelming as it was. Hiro squeezed his eyes shut and sobbed; it wasn't like the first time, no, not at _all_. It was better in more ways than he could count.

Moments later, not quite able to move, he tugged Ando up the length of his body and crushed their mouths together. He could taste himself on Ando's tongue, or so he thought – salt, skin, an unfamiliar trace – and found himself wondering what Ando tasted like, and decided, _yes_ , he would find out. Ando seemed happy enough to have Hiro's hand on him, but when Hiro turned the tables, awkwardly rolling them over, a trace of fear crept into his eyes.

"I'm not a ghost," Hiro whispered, brushing a soft kiss against his lips. "I promise."

Ando tasted like salt, too – but stronger, somehow, and almost unpleasant at first. By some miracle, Hiro didn't choke, and he sagged just where he was: with his cheek against Ando's sticky lower belly and Ando's shaking fingers tangled in his hair, which had long since come loose. He stroked Ando's thighs and kissed the insides, one after the other, the only apology he could give.

"I feel dawn approaching," he murmured, which was a lie, but it was necessary. He scrambled away, tumbling off the bed in his haste, and managed to find his wajari by sheer luck. Ando was already after him, reaching over the edge of the mattress with a desperate look Hiro had only ever seen once before, four weeks ago.

"Hiro, don't – "

"I'm sorry!" Hiro shouted, but the spinning rush had swept him away.

* * *

There was blood on the pillows. Honest-to-goodness _blood_ , dark and dried and ominous in the early morning sun. There wasn't a lot of it, but there was enough for Ando to realize that keeping himself in denial, within the boundaries that Hiro had so carefully tried to set out for them, wasn't working. He wanted Hiro more with each day that passed, and he dared not think of what might have caused Hiro to bleed like that. A knife, an arrow, a sword? What kind of near miss, and _how_ near?

Of course, the memory of sex continued to interfere. There was less evidence this time, obviously, but he _felt_ it more acutely than before, and little wonder. He wouldn't claim that either of them had known what they were doing, but he couldn't _but_ claim that it left the one time a girl had tried it (unsuccessfully) on him far behind in its wake. And the array of sounds he had so far coaxed out of Hiro was _truly_ astonishing. Sounds more than anything stayed with him: Hiro's voice was a lifeline where his physical presence had, at last, failed.

Ando stirred his coffee, staring down at his keyboard. He was falling behind on the project, and he was running out of excuses. Taro had covered for him once, but he wasn't about to let that happen again. Something had to give, had to _change_ , or else he'd hear directly from Kimiko, and that was, given the terms on which they'd parted, intolerable. The IM came sooner than he'd expected.

 **kiku_nori:** Sorry to bother you, but I need a word.  
**Huggerz69:** that's all right. what is it?  
**kiku_nori:** It's come to my attention that you're doing the opposite of better. Do you know something I should know?  
**Huggerz69:** that depends. maybe it's something he doesn't want you to know.  
**kiku_nori:** Wrong answer. Are you aware that you're very replaceable at the moment?  
**Huggerz69:** believe me, yes.  
**kiku_nori:** Then you're meeting me in the lobby as soon as you finish. The drinks aren't on me this time, I can promise you.  
**Huggerz69:** and we all know a nakamura can keep a promise.

Ando was relieved that she didn't bother to answer, given that his final response could well have lost him his job on the spot. The rest of the day seemed to drag, and even lunch with Taro and Kiyoshi didn't break up the monotony. They'd heard _something_ about him going out the other day with Kimiko, and they had wanted details, which Ando was all too happy to give – minus the particulars of conversation. They'd gone away thoroughly disappointed, although Kiyoshi managed to spot Ando and Kimiko leaving the building together shortly after six, which wouldn't help matters.

Kimiko chose a different bistro this time, pointedly ordering only for herself. When she glanced across the table at Ando, her gaze followed closely by the waiter's, Ando said that he'd have a Coke, and that was all. Hiro was fond of Coke when he wasn't in a drinking mood, and he was perpetually thrilled that Ando kept it around for him.

"I take it you've had another dream," said Kimiko, flatly, knocking back her first cup of sake in the most unladylike fashion Ando had ever seen. "Well?"

Ando nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on his glass. "Last night."

"Was he in the past like last time?"

"No," admitted Ando, abruptly feeling too ill to consider a sip of Coke. "He was in my room."

"Here and now?" Kimiko asked, leaning forward.

"I don't know," Ando said, lying through his teeth. "I think so."

"The plot thickens," Kimiko murmured, pouring herself some more sake. "Was he all right? What did he say to you?

"Yes, he was all right," replied Ando, forcing himself to take a long swig. Anything to delay the inevitable, _anything_.

"You didn't answer my question."

"What he said to me is none of your business," Ando gritted out, almost choking.

"On the contrary, it's very much my business," said Kimiko, sharply. "Do you have another job lined up, Ando, or shall I remind you exactly what's at stake?"

"He told me it had been four weeks since we last saw each other, but for me, it was only two."

"Anything else?"

Ando set down his glass and raised his head. To hell with evasion and half-truths; if she wanted details, she was going to get bits and pieces right out of her worst nightmares.

"Well," said Ando, with difficulty, inclining his head a little so as not to seem _too_ defiant, "we didn't talk much after that, to be honest."

He must have chosen the correct tone, because the several conflicting expressions that passed through Kimiko's impenetrable eyes over the next few seconds were the most remarkable phenomenon that Ando had ever observed. He'd only seen it in Hiro on a few occasions, and two of them had been so recent that he could evoke them at will.

"I see," said Kimiko, quietly, her eyes fixed on the table. "You're sure that he's safe, then?"

"As safe as he can be for now," Ando sighed, relieved that she had chosen not to fire him on the spot. "He promised me that he's doing this only because he must. He will come back. He _has_ come back, whether in dreams or otherwise. Do you want me to tell him you're worried? Because I'm sure – "

"You tell him," Kimiko whispered, staring into her sake, "that I miss him, and that I miss Father. That's all. I'm sick of this, God, so sick. I want them back. Is that selfish?"

"No," Ando reassured her, trying his best to smile. "I want Hiro back, too. Is _that_ selfish?"

"No," Kimiko said, finally looking Ando straight in the eye. "You least of all. He loves you. Why shouldn't he come to you in the only way that he can? I'm selfish not to take your word. Forgive me."

"No, no," Ando said, hastily rummaging in his pocket for the correct change. "Don't say that. You've been upset. We're both upset. Let's leave it at that, all right? I promise I'll tell you if I see him again. I promise I'll give him your message." He left the money on the table next to his unfinished Coke, stepping away with a low bow.

"Good night, Nakamura Kimiko. I won't trouble you again."

Kimiko laughed, then, as unexpected as the sake-shots that she hadn't quite abandoned.

"Trouble me? No, Ando. You don't. I won't trouble you, either, but please try to concentrate? Your direct boss is the most insufferable man we have on staff."

Ando nodded gratefully, vindicated somewhere at the back of his mind that even the big boss herself thought that Nagatsu was an abomination. He felt it for Hiro, too, who had suffered one too many pinched ears at Nagatsu's hand.

As he walked home, all he could think of was the blood on his pillows, on _Hiro's_ hand.

* * *

When Hiro closed his eyes, it was on a sight to which he never hoped to return. As hard as he'd tried, he hadn't been able to help her. No, they hadn't been lovers, but she'd _had_ a lover, and her lover had been Hiro's friend. And now he was gone, and his friends, although they'd won, were in mourning. It was a scene in which Hiro didn't belong, had never belonged. He didn't know what to do, or even where to go.

( _Of course I do_ , he thought, and his body, still breathing, found its way.)

Ando wasn't asleep this time, or even half dreaming. He was wide awake, sitting up in bed, staring at Hiro where he stood silhouetted in the window. Ando had forgotten to close the curtains that night, and the artificial light seemed almost blinding.

"Eight weeks," Ando whispered. "It's been two months. _Hiro_."

"Two weeks," Hiro replied, weakly, removing his helmet and letting it fall to the floor. "I haven't seen you for two weeks, Ando. So little time, and so much has – "

Ando was already off the bed, Hiro's kosode billowing out behind him. Hiro caught him halfway, wincing at the reedy creak of his armor. Ando stepped back, glancing down between them, mystified. "You've been in battle," he said. A statement, not a question.

Hiro nodded, wanting nothing so much as to cry. All this time Ando had waited, not knowing, left alone _remembering_ – 

"So much time," Ando whispered, stepping forward again, his features softening. "And so _little_ has happened here."

Hiro felt the tears spill over, but he did nothing to stop them. Ando was already kissing his eyelids, running his hands blindly over Hiro's armor. Briefly, Hiro wondered how Ando could be so strong. He wasn't crying; he was coaxing Hiro into showing him how the armor worked, and, wordlessly, Hiro obeyed. Ando's embrace was the most welcome thing he'd known in days, in weeks, in his _life_.

"Stay with me," Ando whispered, tugging on Hiro's wrists. "Come to bed. _Rest_."

For once, Hiro couldn't argue. He followed, sinking down on the mattress at Ando's bidding, taking in the fleeting scent of memory: wind and grass, Ando and _home_.

* * *

"Hello? Nakamura Kimiko?"

"Yes. Who is speaking?"

"Masahashi Ando. My humblest apologies, but I can't make it in today."

"That's not my jurisdiction. Have you called Nagatsu?"

"With all due respect, no. I thought I should call you instead."

"I'll send him an email, but he won't be pleased. Ando, you had better be _really_ ill."

"It's nothing I don't have under control," said Ando, carefully, running his fingers through Hiro's unruly hair. Hiro was fast asleep, wrapped in his old kosode, and he had curled up against Ando as soon as he'd come back to bed with the phone. "I expect the recovery time won't be long at all. Exhaustion is serious, but not fatal."

On the other end of the line, there was a moment of dead silence.

"Thank you for letting us know," said Kimiko, her voice taut with emotion. "Otherwise, you are…as well as can be expected?"

Hiro twitched in his sleep, perhaps dreaming, but he stilled as Ando stroked his back.

"Always," said Ando, calmly, and hung up. _He_ wasn't dreaming, not anymore, and there was work to be done.


End file.
